8.08 (Asian-time)

by waxnwings

I like to cut things fine. People often say I take ages, but to honest I don’t think I’m ever genuinely ‘late’ for anything. Nothing’s ever missed – it eventually gets done, in time. It’s effectively in my genes, man; Asian-time. If you’re not familiar with Asian-time, this guy gives a pretty accurate description:

To be honest, my brother recently put it in a way which I much more prefer:

“we’re like wizards, lil bro. Never late or early. We arrive precisely when the fuck we mean to.”

Gandalf couldn’t have put it better.

So, yeah, anyway. If I want to start work at 9am, my later bus is as 8.11am. This is opposed to an earlier bus at 7.16am which allows me to arrive over 45 minutes early for work if I wanted to start at 8.30, the antithesis of Asian-time and precisely when I mean to. Despite a decision for the earlier bus resulting in an hours loss of sleep, the stench of oily school children, the cringing enthusiasm of college kids stoked on driving tests and wearing their own clothes in the day-time and a general collation of degenerate bus wankers, it does mean I get to finish work a half hour earlier and get to the gym before 5.30pm. Precisely when I mean to.

This morning, a skinny school-girl of about twelve orally excreted her breakfast in a radius amounting to probably around twice her own body mass if she were cannibalised, partially digested and vomited into the middle of a public transport walkway. Given my familiarity with the location which she boarded, school she was attending and the area in general, I would wager her 3/1 that she’s pregnant and 12/1 that she knows the baby daddy.

Anyway, I set my watch three minutes fast so when I leave my house at ‘8.10’ I know it’s actually ‘8.07’, more than enough time to arrive precisely when I mean to. And actually this is all this post was supposed to be about – the first song I listened to this morning.

And maybe a bit about the girl puking.

Nowadays my life gets about as exciting as the knowledge of a chicken breast breakfast sweating out in a box in my bag after waking up hungover on a friend’s floor, and hitting ‘shuffle’ on my mp3 player. And this morning it was this 808 banger which helped buffer the aural drone of an un-welcomed AM. I check the time on my watch set three minutes into the future and it’s 8.11. If its were Big Ben it would be 8.08.

Coincidence. Or maybe not. Maybe there’s a deity out there who loves messing with people’s minds, making your mates send you texts just as you’re about to ring them, giving you the shits just as you were planning to pull a sicky, fertilising the eggs of irresponsible school kids. Or perhaps I have an over-active imagination and nothing else to write about.

To be honest I lost my pen so I haven’t been able to write and I keep falling asleep on the bus at 7.16am. I’ll write something worth reading once someone buys me a decent Parker biro for Chwidmaz. Enjoy the 808 snapz.

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